Reporter Without a Cause
by Taranova
Summary: Diana Allers' newest assignment is profiling the enigmatic Commander Shepard for the war effort. If only her sources would cooperate.


_**Summary**__: Diana Allers' newest assignment is profiling the enigmatic Commander Shepard for the war effort. If only her sources would cooperate. _

_**Pairings: **__References Garrus/Shep, Liara/Shep, slight zest of Thane/Shep. Subject to change. _

_***Shepard Notes*: **__Strong paragon. Vanguard. Female. Colonist origins. Sole survivor. As always, please substitute according to your wishes. :) _

_((I wanted to taste ME fanfiction and thought Diana Allers would make a good conduit for things I wanted to say but couldn't. So here you go. I hope my background in journalism lends this poor, hated character some credibility.))_

—

Diana prides herself on her ability to make people underestimate her. Whether it's the fact that she dares to show a little cleavage, or her fascination with those fancy tanning bans on the Citadel, it's no secret that she goes by "whore" more often than her own name.

Which bothers her, of course, but it's not like she can devote her time and energy to improving her own reputation. She can't tell them that growing up on Bekenstein isn't all it's cracked up to be, or about the years of abuse she endured at the hands of her father, or the pain of losing her mother to a brain aneurysm. The story is never about her.

Being a journalist isn't just running around the galaxy shoving bots in people's faces. It takes work. Political knowledge. Interpersonal skills. Logic. She _runs _Battlespace. People see her and expect an empty-headed bimbo, and end up with a manipulative, intelligent bitch.

Her current assignment: Commander Shepard of the Normandy. Other journalists have described the commander as "patient," "intimidating," and Diana's favorite, "tired." What's more intriguing than the galaxy's resident guardian angel needing some R&R? Nothing. Diana loves the woman before she's even met her.

"Welcome aboard, Ms. Allers," the commander—a strong East Asian woman who can't be older than thirty—shakes her hand warmly before returning to a professional posture. It's striking. They're in the middle of a war and Yoko Shepard is loyal to military decorum in all circumstances. "I hope you're comfortable here. If there is anything you need, please see the Normandy's Comm Specialist, Samantha Traynor. You can usually reach me in my quarters if there's an emergency."

"I will," Diana says, though she doubts she'll be in want of anything except shore leave. She has enough vodka to last her a month but it'll be half that if she actually sees a Reaper. "I'm glad to be here. Thanks for the sweet accommodations. Usually military operations stick me in a closet somewhere."

She's trying to lighten the mood but Shepard isn't amused, nodding out of politeness. Yoko says they'll talk later, not specifying when, and leaves.

"Huh," she says to her robotic cam, "that was colder than I was expecting. Al-Jilani was right. She did seem exhausted. Remind me to buy her a drink." The camera makes a nodding motion and somewhere in its circuitry marks her calendar. October 28th, Earth time, scheduled shore leave: buy Commander Shepard a round and see if she's capable of smiling.

The commander is busy, but the ship is full of crew and squadmates—and al-Jilani did her a special favor by providing a list of Shepard's contacts. Her first step on this assignment is learning who Yoko is. She's become a symbol but she's still just a woman, and if Diana is ever going to help the war effort, the people will need to have faith in who is leading them.

She organizes her dossiers, smooths her skirt, unpacks her bags, takes out her pad, and presses the button on her intercom. "Traynor, this is Diana Allers from Alliance News Network. I'm sure the commander told you about me. Do you have a minute?"

—-

Samantha is sweet. No other word could more accurately describe her. Very sweet, very well-spoken, very…British. Diana thought she would be older, some seasoned matron, but she's actually gorgeous. She seems nervous, though, and there's a flighty awkwardness to her that Diana finds endearing.

She tells her to have a seat, and starts recording the interview. Traynor eyes the camera wearily, but Diana has already assured her it won't go to broadcast until editing is done.

"So, what do you do here on the Normandy?" Her strategy is typically the same. Let the interview seem conversational, off the record, and soon her source will believe it hasn't even started.

"I'm a Communications Specialist," Traynor says. "I assisted in the retrofitting of the Normandy and ensure that the ship remains in contact with the Alliance. I suppose I've also become something of a secretary, not that I mind. I would much rather be on the deck than in the field. Bullets. You know."

"I hear that," Diana says, looking through her notes. Traynor attended Oxford. She's brilliant, and beyond that has excellent character. "Commander Shepard doesn't seem to have any difficulty dragging the Normandy and her crew into the crossfire. What are your thoughts on that?"

"There's no way to avoid it at this point, is there?" Samantha shrugs. "We all know what we're getting into. Half the crew…were lost to Collectors before I joined. I was scared at first, yes. But if this is the end of the world—all civilized worlds—then I suppose there's no better place to die than on board this ship."

"Do you admire Shepard?"

"Admire Shepard?" Samantha's eyes widen incredulously. "I think the _Reapers_ admire Shepard."

—

"You've worked on the Normandy for how many years?"

"I've been here for at least five, from back when it was the Normandy SR1," the crew woman says without looking away from her map trajectory. "This one's got better seats, that's for damn sure. After a while you get used to seeing aliens all over the bridge but I will _never _forget the Collector attack no matter how many targeted amnesiac treatments I get."

"You still remember it?"

"I remember a lot of screaming and waking up in a tube that smelled like burned vomit. Oh, yeah. Very pleasant."

—-

"So—what is your real name?" Diana asks the Normandy's pilot, who has refused to leave his station and is currently navigating the ship through the cold recesses of space. For some reason there's a female, humanoid robot acting as co-pilot, but it hasn't said a word.

Joker—that's his name—doesn't make eye contact. "It's Jeff Moreau."

"Nice to meet you," Diana says. Clearly his chosen name doesn't mesh with his personality. "Tell me about Shepard. When did you meet?"

Joker is steering the ship through a series of barrel rolls, but because of the directionlessness of space and the ship's built-in velocity dampeners, Diana only notices from the monitor's readings. Interesting.

"I was the pilot of the first Normandy, and Shepard was assigned a few years back as Executive Officer for the Alliance Navy. I knew from the beginning that she was tough as nails. On her first day, a crew member was sexually harassing the yeoman, and she took him down to the shuttle bay to give him an earful. He came back up the elevator in _tears _and said he would be removing himself from the ship permanently."

Damn. "That's a hell of a story."

"She gets livid over things like that," Joker says. "For all of the kills she's lined up, she's not a violent person. She tried bargaining with Sovereign. _Sovereign. _But she won't even hesitate to knock someone out for being a pervert, that's all I'm saying."

Gutsy, but diplomatic. "Any other incidents like that?"

"Sure. There was this asari on Omega…"

—

Diana knows about this one's family legacy. The Williams name isn't exactly held in high-esteem in military circles, though Ashley is changing all of that with her Spectre status and killer aim. It's all water under the bridge, at this point, so Diana focuses on the mission at hand rather than bringing up her unfortunate history.

"Commander Shepard is well-known for her love of aliens," Diana says, admiring the woman's uniform, which is a dazzling shade of blue. She's not sure if she wants it or the body beneath. "Thoughts? Opinions?"

Ashley makes a sarcastic sound. "Yeah. Love of aliens. You got that right."

Diana blinks. "You're not happy with her diplomacy? She's made groundbreaking improvements to Turian-Krogan relations, and some say her pacifying of Geth and Quarians is a miracle…"

"No, no," Ashley says. "That's all swell. I'm glad the aliens are getting along. Trust me, if I never have to fight another Geth, I'll die happy. But she _literally_ loves aliens. She's been involved with the asari upstairs for two years. And let's just say Vakarian does more than just calibrate the Normandy's guns…"

—

"…Shepard is the best CO I've ever had," Traynor continues, taking a sip of the chilled Illium spring water Diana has provided for her. The young woman is slowly loosening up. "She's always asking me how my day is going when she herself has just come through the airlock. She bought me this _wonderful _herbal tea for my birthday and has never once questioned just why I need a toothbrush with built-in mass effect field generators…"

Diana would like to know that herself, actually.

"…Did I say that out loud…?"

—-

Next up is Tali'Zorah, the Quarian with the mask and killer waistline. No one on the Normandy has been accommodating to Diana, exactly, but she wasn't expecting a parade and shower of rose petals. Tali is the only one who seems outright antagonistic towards her. As soon as she enters the core control room, Tali scoffs.

"I don't mean to be rude," Tali says in the sort of tone that indicates the opposite, "but the drive core is out of sync by point three micro pulses and I like to keep busy."

"I won't be long," Diana says, looking over her notes. Tali is an admiral for the Quarian migrant fleet, her favorite weapon is a shotgun, and both of her parents are deceased. Diana doesn't need to ask to know that her life has been tough. "I'm asking the crew and squad about Commander Shepard. Getting to know the woman behind the mask, you know?"

Tali stops punching data into the core interface, pointedly, and then resumes as if Diana didn't just say that. "What do you want to know about Shepard that the extranet couldn't tell you? Even my people have written detailed books about her."

"The extranet gives me the surface details. I know her service history, the colony she grew up on, her good deeds across the galaxy. I even know she worked for Cerberus." This is going to be a tough one to crack. Diana leans against the railing, the sound of the drive core pulsing in her ears. "What I don't know is who she is. What motivates her. What keeps her up at night. Hell, I'd kill to know her favorite color."

"It's green," Tali says testily. "And I don't think that's any of your business."

—-

"Yeah, I know Shepard," the Krogan, Grunt, says over an extranet video feed. It took a few minutes to explain to him how to turn on the microphone. "She butted me in the head once. It was awesome."

—-

"…and _that's _why Shepard won't let me take her out to dinner anymore," Joker finishes with a smirk. "Man, you should have seen the mess. She fell through a fish tank. The Hanar assembly mourned for weeks."

Diana nods slowly.

"That was a joke."

—-

"Wow, she banged a Turian?" Diana asks, deciding to leave this off the record. She's genuinely surprised. She didn't even think the two species found the other attractive, let alone were capable of intercourse. You learn something every day. "Wouldn't there be—chafing? And. Oh, wow. I'm adventurous, but that's insane."

"Nah," Ashley says, shrugging as if she's seen crazier things. She probably has. "They've got a manual on interspecies sex that they hand out in basic. Granted, most of the instructions are for Asari, but for Turians they recommend a bathtub of oil, some scented candles and a whole lot of prayers."

"Commander Shepard the xenophile. How's that for a headline?"

"Accurate, but I wouldn't let the information out of this room. She would shred me." Ashley looks around the lounge as if someone else might be listening in, and then lowers her voice to a dulcet whisper. "There was this drell assassin…"

—-

"So—Archangel." Diana lays her datapad on the desk in front of Garrus Vakarian. "I see you never stopped to take a breather between missions." On the screen is a news article from about a year ago, detailing the mysterious antihero of Omega who shot first and asked questions later. This particular news story is about three batarian slavers whose skulls were pulverized by heavy sniper ammo.

She wrote it, but he won't know that.

"Oh, well that's just not fair," Garrus says, leaning against her wall confidently. "I don't know anything about you yet. Care to level the playing field?"

"Hey, if we finish this interview before the canteen opens for dinner, you're welcome to ask me anything you want," Diana says. She's barely spoken a few words to the Turian and he's already on her good side. If he winds up turning her into a xenophile like Shepard, she'll kill him. She's strictly human-only.

Well. Okay, _mostly. _

She snatches back her datapad and opens the document with Vakarian's profile. She's memorized it by now, doesn't really need it, but she'll look unprofessional if she doesn't have something in her hands. "You've known the commander longer than some others on this ship. Anything that really jumps out at you?"

Garrus nods, eyes somehow conveying warmth despite their reptilian darkness. "She's a damn good soldier. I don't think I've ever seen a better shot, and as far as biotics go she's at the top of the food chain." He folds his arms across his chest. "Damn good friend, too. She's saved my ass more times than I have fingers. I don't care what anyone says. If she asked me to, I'd take on a Reaper with my bare hands."

His passion astounds her. She's always heard about Turian honor and loyalty but this goes beyond that. It's remarkably…human. She'd better not say that on the air or she'll have the Terra Firma party knocking at her door.

"Granted," Garrus continues, "I have my scars. The face, and everything. I definitely wouldn't come out of a one-on-one with a Reaper looking pretty, but then again I've never been pretty."

—

When she arrives in the shuttle bay, James Vega is doing an unhealthy amount of pull-ups for his own vanity. She gives him an unimpressed look (though she really is impressed, and kind of aroused if she's going to be honest with herself) and taps her datapad. "Interview, Vega. Remember me? Diana Allers?"

"Right, yeah," James says, dropping from the bar. "The ship's got a resident journalist now. What did you wanna talk about again?"

My eyes are up here, Mr. Vega. "Your CO, Yoko Shepard."

"Lola?" James squints at her, shouting at her over the noise. She's regretting not having their meeting somewhere quieter, like her room. There's too much damn machinery down here and she has this violent urge to grab Vega, slam him down on the gun bench and have her way with him. "Yeah, she's cool."

"That's it?" Diana asks. "She's cool?"

"Yeah, you know," James says. She doesn't know. "She's bangin'. Keeps everyone in line. Approves of most things I do, and lets me know when I cross the line."

"I don't believe it," Diana deadpans. "How could you possibly ever cross the line?"

"You'd be surprised. Anyway, Shepard. Shepard is—crazy. Absolutely off her rocker insane. She cured the genophage and let a Geth join the team. If that doesn't spell 'insane' I don't know what does. But she's got a lot of heart. She cares for all of us like we're—hell, I don't know. Her family."

That makes a tragic kind of sense. "She lost hers on Mindoir, didn't she?"

"Oh, we don't talk about Mindoir on this ship, Ms. Allers," Vega says cautiously. For once he's completely serious. "Whatever happened there, it really fucked her up. Now, you didn't hear this from me. But the Alliance patrol that found her, spotted her crawling half-dead through a field, covered in blood and bits of skin. She was mute for two goddamn years. Not a word."

"How the hell do you…get over something like that?"

"Two words: she's resilient. She burned up that part of herself and threw it away. And that's why we don't mention it on this ship. We're her family now, this is her home, and she's damn good at what she does." He hesitates. "Do me a favor. Don't tell her I call her Lola. She hates it."

—

"What's your problem, Tali?"

"There is no problem. I'm trying to calibrate the Normandy's drive core functions to optimum capacity while there's a human reporter buzzing around in my ear, but there's no problem." Tali rather aggressively presses a shortcut on the keyboard and the mass effect core shudders visibly. "Damn it."

"Look, I know I'm the last person you're interested in talking to right now, but this is a huge story. We're talking about saving the galaxy here. Do you have any idea how many people watch Battlespace?"

"Billions. I know. And all of them are completely enamoured with you, I'm sure." Tali groans and pulls up her omni-tool, poking around in both it and the ship's interfaces simultaneously. Suddenly she freezes and looks up, towards the deck. "_Joker_."

"Jeff Moreau?"

"Yes," Tali snaps. She presses the com button. "EDI. I apologize for the interruption but the drive core is whimpering from Joker's ego. Please tell him to tone down on the acrobatics and put the ship into drift mode until I finish fine-tuning."

A cool, feminine voice echoes in the confines of the core. "Acknowledged. But you are not interrupting me. Rather, I am always listening. If you like, I can adjust my parameters to tune out specific conversation topics should the need arise."

"Thank you," Tali says. "But that won't be necessary. It's not a huge issue, but it's hard to work when he's putting stress on the core. Thank you for understanding."

The com feed fizzes out.

"What was that?" Diana asks. "I didn't know the ship had a VI."

Tali looks at her, starts to speak, and then shakes her head. "Yes. She's very…helpful." Now that the complications with engineering are out of the way, maybe Diana will have better luck getting her to answer her questions. She isn't sure what it is that's turning the Quarian off but it's starting to annoy her a bit.

"You ready to talk?"

Tali sighs. "Here's the thing," she says. "I know that you are a busy woman and have many people and places and things to keep track of. But surely, looking at your fancy datapad that probably costs more than ten liveships combined, you took a moment to think about just who it is you're speaking to."

Diana—freezes.

For the first time in a few years, she's speechless.

"Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Your father was the admiral who was activating Geth in the flotilla."

"Yes," Tali says. "And you are the one who defaced his name and his legacy to all of council space. Perhaps you were misinformed. Maybe there was no malicious intent. I don't know. But my father, for all of his shortcomings, did not deserve what you and the human networks did to him. For that, I am what I hope is understandably pissed."

"The Alliance News Network retracted a lot of those statements."

"Yes," Tali scoffs. "One time, in fine print, scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Clearly they cared about the reputation of one of the finest admirals in the fleet. A man who only wanted to make sure his daughter had a world to come home to."

—-

"Thank you for your time."

—-

T**hat's enough for now. Next time: Miranda, Kolyat, Liara, Jack, and some more from these guys. ;D **


End file.
